t her son to the post-office, saying:

"If they do not come to-day they will surely write."

Traverse hastened with all his speed, and got there so soon that he had
to wait for the mail to be opened.

Meanwhile, at home the widow walked the floor in restless, joyous
anticipation, or went to the door and strained her eyes up the road to
watch for Traverse, and perhaps for some one else's coming. At last she
discerned her son, who came down the road walking rapidly, smiling
triumphantly and holding a letter up to view.

She ran out of the gate to meet him, seized and kissed the letter, and
then, with her face burning, her heart palpitating and her fingers
trembling, she hastened into the house, threw herself into the little
low chair by the fire and opened the letter. It was from Herbert, and
read thus:

"Hurricane Hall, Nov. 30th, 1843.

"My Dearest and Best Mrs. Rocke--May God strengthen you to read the
few bitter lines I have to write. Most unhappily, Major Warfield
did not know exactly who you were when he promised so much. Upon
learning your name he withdrew all his promises. At night, in his
library, he told me all your early history. Having heard all, the
very worst, I believe you as pure as an angel. So I told him! So I
would uphold with my life and seal with my death! Trust yet in God,
and believe in the earnest respect and affection of your grateful
and attached son,

"Herbert Greyson.

"P.S.--For henceforth I shall call you mother."

Quietly she finished reading, pressed the letter again to her lips,
reached it to the fire, saw it like her hopes shrivel up to ashes, and
then she arose, and with her trembling fingers clinging together, walked
up and down the floor.

There were no tears in her eyes, but, oh! such a look of unutterable woe
on her pale, blank, despairing face!

Traverse watched her and saw that something had gone frightfully wrong;
that some awful revolution of fate or revulsion of feeling had passed
over her in this dread hour!

Cautiously he approached her, gently he laid his hand upon her shoulder,
tenderly he whispered:

"Mother!"

She turned and looked strangely at him, then exclaiming:

"Oh, Traverse, how happy I was this day week!" She burst into a flood of
tears.

Traverse threw his arm around his mother's waist and half coaxed and
half bore her to her low chair and sat her in it and knelt by her side
and, emb